People often ask me what my favorite dish is. I think it would be wiser and more efficient to name the few things I care nothing about, like shrimp and other crustacean. It’s not to say I won’t ever like those, but I am yet to have the shell fish served in a way that will blow my mind. Otherwise, please don’t even waste my time.

The things I can eat into infinity, on the other hand, are EGGS. Be those Sunny-side-ups with runny yolk oozing over my lunch toast or fingerling potatoes in my Salad Nicoise. Be those Poached Eggs served over Mashed Rutabaga & Celeriac. Simply hard-boiled eggs chopped and mixed with tuna and pickles that make perfectly creamy and scrumptious filling for sandwiches. An old fashioned Scramble with the volume turned up never gets old. I’ll take my eggs any time of the day, any day of the week. Alas, a lazy Sunday morning and an eggstra decadent meal are a match made in heaven.

This past weekend, I served FRITTATA with Baby Spinach, Green Apples, Goat Cheese and Pancetta. To call it a decadent meal would be offensive. It was magical…

With the first taste that reached my mouth the seat underneath my firm ass-cheeks mysteriously turned into a plush throne covered with red velvet. My hand dropped onto the massive oak table under the weight of a silver fork I never saw before in my life. Little bells rang above my head, stars dust sparkled in the air, and suddenly my left hand was lifting a heavy, silver chalice embellished with precious stones and golden rims. Then I looked down…

Here’s the thing. The last time I saw myself in the mirror before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast I was wearing a see-through tank top and skimpy boy shorts that I like to parade in on Sunday mornings. Now my negligee was replaced with a tight bustier and delicate chiffon gown with mother-of-pearl buttons running up from the waist up to my throat glands. I was astonished. It was the state of the art tailoring bearing trade marks of a royal craftsman. My jaw elegantly fainted and dropped like an autumn leaf to the plate.

The plate! The plate with my SPINACH-APPLE FRITTATA which in fact was the source of all the wicked abracadabra playing out in front of our eyes!

It would be rude and selfish of me not to share this dish with you for the experience is out of this world, I tell ya. The perks, beyond the above described ones, are:

1. It’s easy to make.

2. One batch can last for a few meals that can be stored in a refrigerator for 2 days, or even frozen to be enjoyed later.

3. It’s as versatile as scrambled eggs–you can put in it whatever your soul desires and make it anew every time.

4. You can serve it fresh and hot at home for Sunday breakfast, or pack it for lunch to go on Monday.

5. It’s made of EGGS!

6. It has magical powers…

There are several “proven” methods of making a frittata, and I’ve tried them all. You’ll need a cast-iron skillet (or any other oven proof one) and a 500° hot oven.

Depending on the size of your skillet, you’ll need 6, 10 or even 12 eggs. For my 12″ pan I usually go with 10 organic and free range eggs. Also, peel an apple of your choice (I like the tart ones), quarter, core it and thinly slice. Beat all of the eggs in a bowl, add 2-3 tbsp of heavy cream, and season with salt and pepper. If you like, add chopped chives, or a pinch of chili pepper, or a teaspoon of dry oregano. It’s your dish.

Heat the skillet on the stove top, add a touch of olive oil and butter together, and add diced pancetta. When some of the fat has rendered, tip the apples in and toss them about. Sprinkle a touch of sea salt all over to help the apples sweat and thus get softer. Next, pour the egg mixture in and reduce the heat to medium low. Crumble cold goat cheese all over your dish, add a big handful of fresh spinach, and help it incorporate evenly across the dish.

Using a soft spatula lift the edges of the frittata along the sides of the skillet allowing the still loose eggs from the top to drip underneath the set layer. Make sure nothing sticks. Grate a handful of Fontina cheese all over the surface, drizzle with olive oil and turn off the heat. Place your skillet inside the hot oven for about 10 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and eggs set.

Remove the pan from the oven, let it cool for 5 minutes, cut in wedges and serve with a side of green salad and toasted baguette. Watch the frock on your bod turn into a royal gown, and a pumpkin coach park outside your window 😉

I will sound like a broken record but what in the world is going on with the Wednesday Shopping Fever? Unless you have a Batmobile, don’t even bother looking for a spot at the parking lot in front of our local grocery store. Not on Wednesday at least. Instead, I propose you leave that stinky car in the garage, arm your pockets with shopping bags, and march ahead to the store. You’ll thank me later when you’ll have come back with a healthy blush on your face licked by the sun and with the Lance Armstrong’s heart rate when he’s asleep. That man is a power horse, and we have got to start somewhere.

Speaking of eco-friendly commute, have you ever dreamed of time traveling? My accountant has afforded me such trip the other day and I wasn’t sure if I were dreaming or we really went back to 1954. I met the guy last year when doing my taxes. Jason has been a client for a number of years and swore by him. This time we went together. When Jason’s finances of 2009 were sorted, the CPA reached out to my pile to organize that pathetic proof of my income. To call it an INCOME is a solid exaggeration. Nevertheless, he put the numbers into his columns and I peppered him with questions regarding starting my own business. Since, as you all know, I recently began working as a personal chef, I wanted to learn about the expected proper behavior of a responsible taxpayer when self-employed.

And that’s when I heard this deafening squeak as if a giant wheel was turned. Lightening cut through the skies, a sinister horn sounded off in the distance, the ground shook beneath our feet, lights in the room went off and icy wind swirled around me causing my nipples to stand up in full alert. I didn’t fully comprehend we were back in the early 50’s until I realized the CPA completely ignored me and began to answer all MY questions regarding MY business directly to Jason, all the while referring to me (yes, I was acknowledged) as a SHE.

“She should open a separate account, and she should use it for all business related transactions”…

I sat there dumbfounded with my eyebrows slowly rising and pushing my hairline dangerously close to the tip of my head, while my nipples completely deflated.

“I’m here. And I CAN hear you.”

I uttered at last throwing the accountant completely off track. He looked at me confused and then with a bleak smile he turned his attention back to Jason as if he were asking his fellow penis:

“What does she mean, mate?”

It’s been 48 hours since the incident. I am still trying to shake that off. The crazy part is that the dude is MAYBE ten years older than me, if that. Who are his parents? Where has he come from? Was he an Amish offspring that had escaped the regime too late to recover and absorb the rules of the Western culture? At least he didn’t have a knee-long beard. Ok, I’m done.

That same night we set off the clock once more with the movie of my youth based on the books I read back in my days of innocence – “Anne of Green Gables” by Lucy Maud Montgomery. I was all in tears within the first five minutes of the film, the sentiment being stronger than any reason.

“You know it’s a three hour long movie. Are you going to cry the whole time?”

Jason was quickly learning that night about the role Anne has played in my life. It is a series of books about a redhead orphan child that I had devoured one after another, multiple times (the books, and NOT orphans). My mother was the one who introduced me to Anne Shirley, and we would read those stories together alternating the tomes.

The movie is as girly as they come, and yet Anne is such a delightful and amusing character that even Jason was quickly engaged in the story and sat through the entire 3 hours and 15 minutes of the film with me, enjoying every minute of it.

If I were to complement the charm and charisma of Anne of Green Gables with food, I would choose something fresh and bright, and yet complex in flavor and texture. Something oozing with comfort and yet elegant and authentic. One thing comes to mind – SALADE NICOISE.

The salad is a beautiful arrangement of tuna, cherry tomatoes, soft-boiled eggs, green beans, new potatoes, olives and often times anchovies on a bed of butter lettuce. All the vegetables are drizzled with vinaigrette and thus complement the lightly seared tuna steak on a plate. It truly is a painting and you are the artist. Salad Nicoise is a French classic you can make your own by adding your own twist through the presentation, a choice of vinaigrette, or the method of serving tuna.

Here’s mine:

Be inventive, be creative, and let your own personality shine through any dish you prepare. You are the cook. Your knife is a paintbrush, the plate is your canvas. You are the artist.

Email Subscription

Enter your email address to subscribe to OMB and receive notifications of new posts by email.